


The Beauty Of Crimson | Discontinued

by bang-the-smoke (708_things)



Category: Fall Out Boy, I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band), Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Fluff, Hipster Ryan, M/M, Photographer Dallon, Vampire AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21599329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/708_things/pseuds/bang-the-smoke
Summary: Dallon Weekes is a professional photographer who has lost his inspiration. He finds a new muse, an easygoing model named Patrick. But Patrick is harboring a secret that could ruin everything.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Dallon Weekes
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> old fic that is going to be left discontinued. cross-posted on wattpad

The photographer looks through the photos in the thin folder. They were impressive, the background only adding more focus to the models themselves. The models were of course always the center of the pieces, as they always were. He smiles as he recalls the memories of the past shoots, then handed the folder over gingerly to his boss.

He watches as his boss scans through them, his eyes narrowing. Though he seems very critical, the brief nodding of his head indicated his approval. His head lifted and his eyes met Dallon's hopeful blue's.

"Amazing as always," he says. Dallon smiled, but then his boss continued speaking. "It's just missing something..."

Dallon's eyebrows furrow in confusion. He was sure that his recent work was impressive, but if there's really room for improvement, he's all ears. "Can you elaborate, sir?"

The man sighs, tapping his fingers on his desk as he thought about his answer. It was a quirk of Urie's that Dallon had noticed over time, but it's not like it was hard to pick up. Mr. Urie is always antsy like that, and as a photographer, Dallon's more inclined to notice things like that. "It's lacking inspiration," Mr. Urie says.

Dallon bites his lip, because he can actually see that. He understands what he means, but to hear his boss call him out on his weakness was almost like a wakeup call. He doesn't say anything, and focuses on the tapping of Mr. Urie's fingers.

"It's lovely work, but it's missing a flair," Mr. Urie says. "Your old photo's just look so different than now, because you had a muse."

"What do you expect me to do about that?" Dallon asks, lowering his eyes to the floor. He felt ashamed.

"Weekes, I'm going to put you on a short break," Mr. Urie states, after a moment of silence falls between them. He looks back up and sees a determined look in his boss's eyes. "I'll be damned if I let your talent be wasted. Go find a muse, and don't come back until you do."

Dallon wishes he had his camera with him. His boss is practically glowing with determination, making his features so distinguished and amazing. But he's right. He needs an actual muse, actual inspiration. He's been taking photo's just to fill the void, because it's what is required of him. "Alright," he says, standing up. "I'll try to hurry."

"Take as much time as you need," Mr. Urie smiles. "Well, not too much time. I know you're a tortured artist, but I'm not going to wait years."

Dallon chuckles. "Understandable." For a moment, he wonders if he should ask for the photos back. It's not like he needs them, but it would be nice to have them. But his boss is already putting them away in a cabinet, so Dallon just walks out of his office.

Dallon doesn't know how long it'll take him to find his spark, but he hopes it happens soon.

\---

Dallon knows the easiest way to find a muse is through a person, and that's totally his excuse to go stalk people downtown. Well, not an excuse. He knows that he's still being a creep, but it's in the name of art.

He goes with his friend, Ryan. Ryan's not really in the photography scene, but he kind of has a cool tumblr blog, so at least Dallon can trust him to point something out if they were to stumble across someone interesting. Halfway through the trip, Dallon realizes he's only pointing out people with dyed hair.

"Stop promoting your agenda," Dallon whines. "I'll never dye mine red, or whatever."

"Why not?" Ryan pouts. "Don't you want to look cool with me?"

Cool isn't how he would describe Ryan's look. His blue dyed hair is just the centerpiece to his hipster look. It's not bad, but it's definitely not his taste. "Uh, no," Dallon says. "That doesn't fit my aesthetic, as you would call it."

Ryan mumbles something under his breath, probably a complaint because that was a borderline insult. Whatever. They continue strolling downtown, before stopping a donut place.

Ryan goes in line to get a blueberry donut, because everything has to be blue to him, and Dallon goes to sit down at one of the tables. Dallon hasn't found anyone interesting looking at all. He sighs bitterly.

Ryan comes back with his donut, passing him a coffee, made just the way he likes it. "Thanks," Dallon says, drinking a sip. It's extremely hot, but again, whatever. He's in that kind of mood.

Ryan also passes him a magazine. "They give them out to every customer, apparently," Ryan explains. "Different ones, obviously, but they're all like, unknown hipster ones."

Dallon can tell that much himself, based on the name of the magazine: _Clandestine._ Dallon snorts, passing it back over to his friend. "Seems more like your taste, dude."

Ryan rolls his eyes, but starts skimming through the magazine. Dallon goes back to drinking coffee and reflecting on his life bitterly. It's peaceful, despite the loud noise of the other customers around them.

And then there's the sharp noise of Ryan sliding the magazine across the table, so it's directly in front of Dallon. Dallon's about to interject, but before he can, Ryan says, ever so charmingly, "Holy shit."

Dallon scoffs, but then his eyes gaze at the page Ryan's pointing to enthusiastically. He wants to say something condescending, like a remark about how hipster this magazine is, but the model takes his breath away. The model is a short, younger man, probably just past eighteen. There's something there behind the ugly clothing, something about his expression that catches his interest. There's a glimpse of innocence in his wide-eyed stare. And fuck, Dallon can't believe he's this lucky, because if there's anyone to be inspired by, it's him.

Both men's gaze moves over to the credit near the top of the page, listing the model's name along with the photographer. The model is named Patrick Stump, and Dallon forces himself to memorize it. Could this model be the answer to his problem?

"Well, I guess _Clandestine_ is more interesting than it seemed," Ryan jokes, leaning back in his chair. He's smiling smugly, and Dallon knows that without even looking.

"It doesn't change my opinion on it," Dallon concludes. He can't help but wonder why that model is working for a small company like that. With his looks, he could go anywhere, but yet he's working some weird hipster magazine.

Ryan chuckles, before finishing off his donut. He pulls Dallon up, smirking at him mischeviously. "We're done in town, aren't we?"

"I suppose so," Dallon says, thinking about that model. He supposes he should contact him. Maybe after a shoot with him, he'd get his spark back.

"Let's go back to my place and watch _Deadpool_ ," Ryan replies, and then they leave the donut shop. Dallon still has the magazine in his hands, a plan formulating in his mind.


	2. Chapter Two

The next night, Dallon does some research. Patrick doesn't have any social media's to be contacted at, surprisingly, but his manager does. A brief look through his manager's account had confirms a few things for Dallon.

Dallon already had an idea that Patrick was new in the modeling game. He's surprised he had a manager at all. His manager, Pete Wentz, seems to not have any other models signed. Dallon decided not to ponder over this, instead just focusing on contacting the model's manager.

_Dear Wentz_ _,_

_I heard about the model you're managing, Patrick Stump, from an issue of Clandestine. I was wondering if it was possible that I could take a few pics with him? I believe without a doubt that his beauty is worth showcasing around the world._

_I'm employed by_ _a magazine, but this is primarily for my own pleasure._ _If all goes well, I can see what I can do with distributing the pictures._

_Sincerely,_

_Dallon Weekes._

Dallon feels satisfied about the email he wrote. He sends it off, and then pulls out his phone to tell Ryan that he went through with it. Ryan won't see it for a few hours becaus he's at work, but as his best friend, Ryan has the right to know practically everything in his life.

\---

"'Tricky darling, come over here. I got some good news for you."

Patrick sighs to himself, walking over to his manager. "What is it?"

Pete gestures him closer to look at the email on his computer. "It's formal as fuck," he says. "This guy might be the real deal."

Patrick reads over the words. A photographer is interested in him? He would be flattered, but he's not sure if he can trust the man. "Yes, but he also didn't mention the magazine he works for. Could be worse than _Clandestine_ , maybe."

"You don't have the option to be picky, remember?" Pete reminds him, and Patrick groans quietly. "It could be good for us."

"At least make him send some of his photo's," Patrick pleads. "I want someone who is talented, not some newbie."

"I'll see what I can do," Pete replies. Then, he smirks faintly. He pulls Patrick closer to him and squeezes his cheeks.

"What are you doing?" Patrick sighs, pushing him away slightly.

"His beauty is worth showcasing around the world," Pete quotes from the email. "Looks like you got yourself an admirer."

"An admirer of my looks," he retorts. "Anyone can enjoy the way someone looks."

The two knew this better than anyone else, and often used it to their advantage. Looks can be very deceiving, and both knew how to utilize that fact. It's essential to how they lived.

"Yes," Pete agrees. "But if you meet him, you can make him like you for more than just your physical beauty."

Patrick rolls his eyes. He moves back from him and gestures to the computer. "Just reply to him," he demands.

"Fine," Pete sighs. "You always ruin my fun."

And well, maybe he does. Out of the two, Patrick's somehow the more responsible one. Though he's older than him, Pete is more carefree. Patrick supposes that's because he's used to the life they live now. Patrick's a newcomer to it, though, and his urges are consuming. He can't think about anything but his goal, so he's always so cautious about it.

Patrick walks out of Pete's office, while Pete composes an email back to the photographer.

_Dear Weekes,_

_Something can definitely be arranged. Patrick's flattered by your interest, but has some concerns. We were wondering if you could show us the quality of work that you normally produce._

_Other than that, I would say that we can start planning the details for the shoot. Along with your work, please reply with some times you'll be available, and we'll see what we can do._

_With love,_

_Pete Wentz_

Pete sends the email off, tapping his fingers on his desk meticulously. Opportunities like this are so rare, and it just so happened to land right into the palms of their hands. Pete smiles, getting up from his chair and walking out of his office.

His office is just an extra room in the apartment they share. He walks over to Patrick's bedroom and knocks on the door. Patrick opens it after a moment. "What is it?" he asks.

"I'm feeling hungry," Pete says. "I'm sure you are too." 

Patrick turns his head to the side, looking shameful. He scratches his neck. "I wish I wasn't," he says.

Pete's eyes are fixated on his neck hungrily. It takes him a moment to realize his mistake. He sighs to himself, and digs out a scarf. He wraps it around his neck, giving Pete a stern look. "Don't get any funny ideas," he warns.

"Okay," Pete replies, blinking a few times to fully get out of the haze. He clears his throat. "Um, sorry."

"It's fine," Patrick says. It's not like he can tell Pete to deny his very nature, because it's inherently cruel and probably impossible to do. "Let's go out and feel the wind."

Pete grins, his canines popping from his mouth. "I concur," he says, and once they're out of the apartment, they're off to look for a victim.

During the search, Patrick finds himself thinking about the photographer. It's true he doesn't have a lot of expectations for this modeling career of his, but Pete has hyped him up to the point that he expects _somethin_ g. He might be a mediocre model forever, but even mediocre model's get paid, and that's what is concerning.

"How about that guy, 12:00?" Pete questions, gesturing his head towards that direction. Patrick snaps out of his thoughts and looks the guy over.

"Looks good to me," he says, and the two move in on him.

Afterwards, when they're full and feel normal again, Pete tells him not to worry about the photographer. "I'll take care of you like always."

"Yeah, sure," Patrick replies, rolling his eyes. It's typically the other way around, but oh well.

While he is curious about what the photographer will want, he knows to stay focused in the moment. Curiosity kills the cat, and doesn't seem to care much about those who are already dead. 


End file.
